"I managed to get us booked on the next
flight to Haiti," Mr. Mondello said the next morning as he, Dennie and Mrs.
Mondello sat at the breakfast table. "Unfortunately, I had to take the seats
that were left, so no one will be sitting together."

Dennie shrugged. "As
long as we get there," he said, giving up the pretense of eating and
dropping his fork down on top of his undisturbed scrambled eggs.

"Eat your breakfast," Mrs. Mondello ordered.

"I'm not hungry," Dennie replied.

"Nor am I," Mr. Mondello countered. "But if you starve yourself, how much
help do you think you'll be in finding your bandmate?"

Dennie stared at his father, whose return gaze never waivered, then
picked up his fork. "I'll call the guys and let them know," he said
before taking a small bite.

"Another one," Mrs. Duvalier said to her husband as he sat down. She
handed him a cup of coffee then sat down opposite him. "Why do they keep
warning us?" she demanded fearfully.

"They think we will try to get involved," Dr. Duvalier said. He shook
his head. "Fenton called this morning," he continued. "He, Dennie and three
of Dennie's friends are coming to look for Artie."

"They can't stay here!" Mrs. Duvalier snapped.

"Marla!" Dr. Duvalier reproached his wife.

"But they will take it out on us if we help the Mondellos," Mrs. Duvalier
said tearfully. "You know what they are capable of."

"I know," he responded somberly, getting up and putting an arm around
his wife's shoulders. "But you know the Mondellos. If it were our son, they
would do everything in their power to help us. All they are asking from
us is a place to stay while they search. How could we deny them?"

"But if they..." Mrs. Duvalier began only to fall silent as her
husband placed a finger to her lips.

"We can send Dennie and his friends searching elsewhere," Dr. Duvalier
suggested. "None of them speak the language so they won't be able to find
out Artie's corpse never left the plantation."

Mrs. Duvalier shivered. "It was bad enough when we found out they
turned their own followers into those...those...things," she said, unable
to accept the truth even now. "But to think of Artie as one." She
shivered again and looked into her husband's eyes. "I know you like this
place because it was your grandfather's," she said. "But couldn't we sell
it and move back to the states?" she begged.

"Marla," Dr. Duvalier began in a sad voice.

"You could start another practice," she said quickly, knowing he had
been about to refuse outright. "You know you miss it."

"I'll think about it," he promised, kissing her forhead. "I'd better
go clean the blood the door or no one will work today," he added, moving
away.

Later that evening, the people gathered once again outside the home of
the Bokur. The Bokur stood on the grave, chanting and raising his arms up
into the air before falling to the ground and putting his lips to the
earth. Again, he stood up and repeated the same chant then fell and
kissed the dirt. One more time did this ritual take place as all who were
gathered remained on the ground, their heads resting on their arms
against the earth.

The Bokur stepped away from the grave and four men leapt to their feet
and picked up shovels. They began to dig up the grave as some began
drumming and others dancing. When the body had been unearthed, it was
placed on an altar made of wooden planks which had been placed in the
shape of a cross. The dancing and drumming ceased and the Bokur walked
around the body chanting and throwing a dark green substance about it.

The Bokur then raised his arm and with a knife cut it, allowing his
blood to fall down onto the still flesh. He then lifted the head, opened
the mouth and let the liquid flow down the throat of the youth.

This done, the Bokur laid the boy's head back down and opened the
eyes. The drumming and dancing began as the Bokur sat just above Artie's
head.

As dawn neared, Artie's chest could be seen to move, soft breaths at
first and then deep heaves as his mouth burst open to gulp in air. He
shot up into a sitting position, his eyes wide in an unseeing horror.

The Mondello Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The
Mondello Boys Fan Fiction authors of the
Mondello Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or
two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The
authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do
not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.